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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224750">Tis the Damn Season</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_313/pseuds/Em_313'>Em_313</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Songfic, high school sweethearts au, taylor swift songfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:34:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_313/pseuds/Em_313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“And it always leads to you and my hometown”  </p><p>Katherine catches up with her high school sweetheart every time she comes home. Jack thinks her life is perfect. She wonders if he could make it better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Kelly &amp; Katherine Plumber Pulitzer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katherine and Jack sat across from each other in the booth, each cradling a beer. A patterned lamp swung above them. Jack peeled off his coat and stuffed it into the corner. </p><p>“Is this okay?” He asked. </p><p>“Yeah,” Kat said. </p><p>“This is kinda our booth,” Jack smiled. “Race and Spot and Tommy and I come here almost every Saturday and play pool. The twins will probably start coming with us when they turn 21 in a couple months. Them and Tommy still living in those townhouses over by the Meijer, ya know where I’m talking about?”</p><p>Katherine didn’t know, but she didn’t care. “Yeah.”</p><p>Jack took a long drink of his beer. </p><p>They did this awkward catch-up every Christmas. The only difference this year was they were both old enough to drink, so they met at a bar instead of a coffee shop. </p><p>”How long are you in town for?” <br/>
<br/>
“The 29th or 30th, probably. I promised my friends I’d go to a New Years party in Chicago with them.” Katherine said. “Where are you working now?” </p><p>“Just got my bartending license, actually. I work at Books and Brews. It’s not bad.”</p><p>She nodded. “Are you still thinking about going back to school?”</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Why didn’t architecture work out?”</p><p>Jack shook his head. “You know me. I gotta have something to do with my hands. I’m not going to learn from a book, especially the classes that don’t have a thing to do with my major.” He drank his beer. </p><p>“You could’ve changed your major. Have you thought about going back to school?” </p><p>“We don’t all have daddy’s money to play around with.”</p><p>“I didn’t say anything about money.” </p><p>“Yeah, which means you <em> have </em> money.” Jack stood up. “I haven’t eaten. Do you want mozzarella sticks?”</p><p>“Sure,” she said. </p><p>Kath watched him cross the room: Jack leaned against the bar with a familiar, easy smile. She realized he’d lost his baby face since high school; he laughed at something the man next to him said, and his jaw was a little sharper, a little more square. His navy pullover hugged his toned shoulder blades and biceps. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, stuck a couple bills in the tip jar, and carried a greasy red basket back to their table.  </p><p>“Thanks,” she said and reached for a mozzarella stick. </p><p>“How, um, how’s school?” </p><p>“It’s good,” Kat said. “I’m looking for an internship.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Jack picked up a mozzarella stick and ate it in two bites. </p><p>“The most likely one is a local paper. I’ve worked with them before.”</p><p>“I remember,” Jack said. </p><p>“But Teen Vogue is looking for people and that’s what I really want. It’d be 6 months in New York.”</p><p>“Damn. Good for you.” The jealousy dripped from his words like icicles. </p><p>“Damn,” Kat mocked. “You sound real happy for me.”</p><p>“What? I said good for you.”</p><p>She took another long drink of her beer. Why did they do this to themselves every time she came home? </p><p>“My dad wants me to come work for him.” </p><p>“Of course he does.”</p><p>“I don’t want to.”</p><p>“So don’t.” He swallowed another mozzarella stick.</p><p>“It’s not that simple.”</p><p>He used to know that. She thought she’d gotten away from that. </p><p>They both ordered another beer.</p><p>“Miss Medda doing okay?” Katherine tried to keep the conversation light. </p><p>“Yeah,” Jack said. “She’s still real involved in theater. Charlie’s a junior. She keeps saying she won’t take any more kids once he’s outta school. I dunno. She said she was done when I moved in and then we got Smalls and Charlie, and probably a dozen temporary fosters between us.”</p><p>Katherine couldn’t picture Charlie as anything but a shy, scrawny middle schooler. “Maybe she’s really done.”</p><p>Jack shook his head and chuckled. “I dunno.” He finished his drink. “Heard your sister’s getting married.”</p><p>Katherine rolled her eyes. “Yeah, my perfect sister and her perfect husband and their perfect wedding. I’m sick of hearing about it.” </p><p>Jack’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Ah, I’ve gotta go soon. Charlie needs a ride.”</p><p>Katherine shrugged on her coat. “You good to drive?”</p><p>Jack nodded and stood up. “It was good to see you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she said. “Good to see you too.” She watched him leave.  </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Medda got up a lot earlier than Jack remembered. He woke up to Christmas music, the coffee grinder, the arrhythmic clanking of dishes as his foster mom puttered around in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled over, stretched out on the couch as best he could, and checked his phone. It was almost 8. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Medda, wrapped in a flowy red housecoat, came into the living room with her coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” She jumped. “Jack, baby, I didn’t know you were here. Did I wake you? Of course I did. I’m sorry, honey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed himself up onto an elbow. “S’okay, Miss Medda.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could’ve slept in your room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “I should’ve gone home. I got Charlie from his friend’s and we got to talking and he was showing me random shit on TikTok. Then it was almost 2, and I was too tired to drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re always welcome to stay over, you know that,” Medda said. “Thanks for getting Charlie last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want some coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get it.” He pushed himself to his feet, shuffled around in the kitchen, and returned to his blanket nest with a mug cradled in his hands. The Christmas tree lights were on, casting the entire house in a warm, cozy glow despite the ice and grey clouds outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Medda sat across from him in her big recliner. “Did you and Katherine have a good time last night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s she doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s good.” Jack sipped his black coffee. “She’s stressing out about what to do after graduation. There’s at least a few jobs or internships on the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fabulous!” Medda beamed. “Good for her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she seems excited,” Jack said. “She’s nagging me to go back to school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not nagging, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felt like nagging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you hear from her often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack chuckled. “You probably know more from social media than I do. We literally only talk when she comes home at Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Medda clicked her tongue. “That’s a shame,” she said. She took a long drink of coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two used to be so close! What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were 17, Mama! We were kids!” Jack rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the wall over Medda’s shoulder, avoiding her gaze. Rows and rows of pictures hung on the wall: Jack as a scared, cocky 14 year old when he first moved in, all of them dressed up for Charlie’s adoption day, rows and rows of school pictures, old candid memories with foster kids who’d moved on. Jack and Katherine. “Oh, geez. Why you still got our prom pictures on the wall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good picture!” Medda said. “Baby, what happened between you and Katherine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly.” He sighed. “We just...she went off to her fancy private school and I stayed around here. She’s just too good for me. She always was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack groaned. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at her, Miss Medda! She’s funny and empathetic and passionate and crazy smart, way smarter than I could ever be. She makes it all look so damn effortless. Everything she does makes me smile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Medda laughed. “You still love that girl.” It wasn’t a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s moved on.” Jack shook his head. “I gotta move on too.” </span>
</p><p>...</p><p>
  <span>Katherine refreshed her email again. </span>
</p><p><b>TIME magazine: Thank</b> <b>you for your application.</b></p><p>
  <b>Star Journal: Application in progress </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Prophetstown Today: pending application </b>
</p><p>
  <b>New York World: Pending application  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Cosmopolitan: we regret to inform you...</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Teen Vogue: thank you for your application </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a damn answer!” Kat threw her head back against the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mom, across the room, looked up from her book. “From who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, staring at those jobs isn’t going to get you an answer any faster. You know they won’t even interview until after the new year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kath pulled her knees up to her chest, slipped a scrunchie from her wrist, and bundled her auburn curls into a sloppy topknot. “I know.” She said, straightening her legs again. She couldn’t sit still. She felt 15, regressing like she always did with her parents. “But I’m so sick of this already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kat shook her head. “You don’t get it. This round and round of the same applications and the same reference letters and all this work. And then I don’t even get an answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s not true—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is, Mom!” She fidgeted with the strings of her hoodie. “Getting a job isn’t like it was when you were young. I’ve been ghosted by so many positions, and so have all my friends. And I put in all this work and all this energy into my applications and bugging people for reference letters. And then I go to the interview and every single time I get told: ‘oh we really like you, but…’.  I’m obviously not good enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that I know isn’t true, Katherine,” Kate said. “You’re brilliant. You have great grades; you work hard. You have a great relationship with your professors.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kat bit her lip. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how can you say you never get anything? What about that summer you spent with the...the Daily Sun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was just a local paper. No one really reads it outside besides the locals.” Kat said. “It just…all of my friends are getting their dream jobs. Stacey got to cover the Olympics. Hannah’s moving to New York to work for a publishing house. Cassie’s in Chicago, and Darcy’s in New York. Bill already has something lined up in DC! He’ll get to cover the White House, Mom. And they’re my friends and I want to be happy for them. And I <em>am</em> happy for them. But what am I doing wrong that I’m not getting those chances?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not doing anything wrong.” Kate said. She paused. “You know, you could always come write for your dad’s paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And get off on nepotism my whole career? No thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Katherine, it’s not like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it, Mom.” Katherine knew she was whining like a teenager and she hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop. “I want...I want my writing to mean something. I want to make it on my own. I need to stand on my own. Dad’s too...controlling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, he’s—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mom.” Katherine rolled her eyes. “You really think Dad would let me write what I want if I worked for him? Especially about politics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I know you’re a little more out there than your father and I, but we don’t need to get into all of that right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katherine could see it: Her dad looking over her shoulder. Her parents arranging her relationships, just like they had with her sisters. All of the people, all the gross old men, who’d worked for her dad for decades calling her “kiddo”.  Her dad getting to brag on another perfect, successful daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” She said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, Katherine, it’s Christmas. I don’t want to fight with you. Things will happen for you. You’ll see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kate’s phone rang, the blaring default marimba song. Why did old people insist on keeping the sound on? “Oh, it’s your sister. They were going to walk the venue again today.” She picked up. “Hello? Helen, honey? Oh how did it go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katherine closed her laptop, pulled her knees to her chest again, and grabbed her phone. She flicked aimlessly through Twitter, then Instagram, then back to Twitter, watching her perfect college friends with their perfect families.  Her mom and sister rambled on about the intricacies of a fairytale wedding almost two years in the making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed to get out of the house. She sent a text. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Kat: hey I know this is random, but I’m staying at my parents and losing it a little. Wanna just drive around?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Jack: I’m on my way. </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’ve been listening to evermore on an endless loop and needed to try a modern AU. I know the pacing of this is a hot mess. Going to try to keep this one short! Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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